


Two Sheathed Knives

by misura



Category: Malazan Book of the Fallen - Steven Erikson
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-09
Updated: 2011-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I take it, then, that you're a wizard of some ability,” Mekhar said, slowly rising.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Sheathed Knives

Ben Adaephon Delat surveyed his environs and found them not quite living up to either his expectations or his hopes. The latter was regrettable, the former almost enough of a reason to head back through the entrance while that still seemed possible - a deceptive perception, probably. Even so.

 _Any man who walks in here to get a drink must either be very stupid, or have a lot of friends with him. A lot of_ stupid _friends, mind._

He himself had come alone, of course. _And Hood take the stupid fool for thinking he was good enough to go up against the Seven Cities' best._ Somewhat of a superfluous curse under the circumstances, the wizard reflected wryly. _Of course, if he hadn't gotten himself killed, I wouldn't have needed to come here in the first place._

Fortunately, the man he had come to see was not particularly hard to spot. Somewhat less fortunately, he had picked a table well to the back of the room, at a distance from the entrance that was considerably more than Delat knew himself able to cover in the time it took an average man to draw a weapon.

 _Not that I'd expect the likes of him to be average._ Then again, it wasn't really his target Delat was concerned with. Any danger or threat from that direction would mean he had failed, and the price of failure was one he has resigned himself to paying, should it come to that.

Crossing the room, he couldn't help but count his steps. There were considerably too many of them to keep up his hopes of a quick retreat, should the conversation go sour on him.

 _Best make sure it stays sweet, then._ Easier said than done, especially taking into account what he'd come here for. “You are Kalam Mekhar?”

It _had_ to be him; there simply weren't that many people answering to Mekhar's description for it to be anyone else, although, of course, one would be enough. Too many, in fact, given the likely cost of mistaking this man for someone he was not.

“Who wants to know?” Not welcoming, precisely, but well enough. No weapons were in sight yet, which Delat chose to take as an encouraging sign. Also, he hoped that anyone _not_ Mekhar would have used the first opportunity to tell him so, rather than draw out the conversation to no purpose.

“I doubt my name would mean much to you.” _If it does, I have greatly underestimated my own fame. To say nothing of my chances at pulling this off._

Mekhar took a sip from whatever brew they served in this place. “Perhaps not.”

“Still, it's yours if you want it. I am called Delat.”

Mekhar nodded as if he did, in fact, know the name. “And what would you want with me, Delat?”

“A partnership,” Delat said bluntly - more bluntly, in fact, than he had intended. It was the heat, he thought, the heat and the feeling this place gave him.

“That's quite something to ask from a complete stranger.”

Delat shrugged. The information that had led him to his decision to come here had come from a source he generally considered reliable. _First time for everything, of course._

“I take it, then, that you're a wizard of some ability,” Mekhar said, slowly rising. He revealed a pair of long knives as he did so, securely sheathed for the moment.

“I am.”

“And a fighter of substantial skill as well.”

“Not really.”

Mekhar looked at him with mild surprise. “From the moment you came in, at least three people have been watching your every move. They have seen you possess some wealth and, what's more, they have seen you speak with me. It is highly unlikely you'll be permitted to walk out of here unchallenged.”

 _Well, all or nothing, then._ He might be able to take three men, assuming they were of only average skill or below. At the very least, once outside, escaping them should become a very real possibility. “Hence my request.”

Somewhat more than mild surprise was showing on Mekhar's face now. “You place quite a bit of trust in the friendliness of strangers, wizard.”

 _Say rather that I am blessed with an overabundance of confidence. And, yes, happily also a good amount of patience, as you have yet to give me an answer._

“You could say I've stopped caring whether I get a knife in the back here and now, or elsewhere and later. Simply put, I need someone to watch my back, and from what I've heard, you might be that someone. If I was wrong, well, then my coming here has robbed someone of the satisfaction of being the one to wield the knife themselves.” There was an art to sounding matter of fact about one's own death. Delat had found it came easier with practice, as well as a prolonged period of time of living as if every hour might be one's last. It would be good to put an end to that.

Mekhar eyed the entrance. His hands were nowhere near his knives, and yet the way he held his body was that of a man who had readied himself for a fight. “You are an optimist.”

“How so?”

“You assume you weren't followed on your way here.”

 _Actually, I assumed it wouldn't matter one way or another._

“No matter,” Mekhar said. “I have heard of you. I believe a partnership would benefit us both.”

“I'm happy to hear it. And good to know you're an optimist, too.” _Not quite so good to know my name has been mentioned in these quarters._

Mekhar grinned at him. “Merely aware of my own skills and theirs, wizard. There is a place we can discuss things further?”

“A rented room over the bakery at the Half Moon Street.”

“I know it. Let's go, then.”


End file.
